


Contribute to the Chaos

by shakingshoulders



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anxiety, Bad at tagging, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, I'm Sorry, Pete Wentz's Suicide Attempt (Best Buy Incident), Pete and Patrick (Fall Out Boy), Pre-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy), Sad, Suicide Attempt, Unrequited, Unrequited Love, it gets better at the end I swear, mostly Peterick friendship but more romance towards the end, this is based on a tfb song, trigger warning possibly!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-27 16:09:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6291100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakingshoulders/pseuds/shakingshoulders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think I'm in love with her, Patrick." Patrick considers this for a moment before speaking.</p>
<p>"Pete, you don't know what the fuck love means."</p>
<p>2005 Peterick, before the recording of From Under the Cork Tree, set in the time frame leading up to Pete's suicide attempt. (around Valentine's Day)<br/>Based on the song "Twin Sized Mattress" by The Front Bottoms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Will Help You Swim

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will be based on a single verse of the song "Twin Sized Mattress" by The Front Bottoms. Possibly part of a series of TFB songfics, maybe leave a comment below?  
> Oh, and I don't own Fall Out Boy, Jeanae, Brendon, The Front Bottoms, all that jazz  
> -K :-)

_**"This is for the lions living in the wiry broke down frames of my friends bodies** _  
_**When the flood water comes, it ain't gonna be clear. It's gonna look like mud** _  
_**But I will help you swim** _  
_**I will help you swim** _  
_**I'm gonna help you swim"** _

     There wasn't anything Pete Wentz did better than stare and not sleep. He had unofficially quit Fall Out Boy the week before, and now, at 2:37 in the morning, all he could bring himself to do was attempt desperately to blink away the image of the broken frames of his friends, their shoulders slumping as he told them: the band just wasn't making him happy any more.  
     And it was true. But, to be fair, nothing made him happy, not the band, not his bass,  
not his best friend and certainly not the absence of returned texts from his on again off again girlfriend, Jeanae. Hell, Valentine's Day was in a month, and he had big plans, but of course she couldn't be bothered to give him the time of day. He supposed that's just how it always was.  
     The Winter was particularly cold in Chicago that year, and as January dragged on he began to regret his decision more and more, but never enough to convince him it was worth it to try to pick up the landline on his bedside table. None of the hurt was enough to turn back to his band and admit that wow, he was a fucking idiot and he fucking loved all of them. That just wasn't his style.  
      However, there also wasn't anything Pete Wentz did better than fail at all attempts to keep himself from calling Patrick, so by 3:52 the groggy and sleep deprived younger boy grasped his phone in his hands with desperation, unable to contain the relief he felt as he picked up, knowing no one else would call him at this hour. "Hey Pete," he sighed into the receiver.  
     "'Trick I, uh, i fucked up," Pete's voice was quiet and pleading and slightly wavering with tears.  
     Patrick's eyes livened. "No Pete, Pete no, no, it's okay! It's all okay now, it was hell when you stopped charging your sidekick man I missed, I missed talking to you."  
      This broke Pete's heart a bit, he was upright now, gazing at the shards of what used to be his red sidekick cellphone, smashed against his window in a 3 am rage, a choice he had kicked himself for seconds later. What if Jeanae calls back? What if Patrick needs me?  
     "Yeah, sorry, I haven't been out of bed for a few days, I think I might have lost it somewhere," he paused for what was meant to be a moment, but translated into seconds that felt like hours, the only sound breaking the silence was the breath of the two boys, and eventually, the sobs of the older. "Pete?" Patrick's voice rang loud and concerned.  
     The prior's eyes flooded, muddied by week old eyeliner and dirt, filling up his bed room and drowning him. He felt like he was being strangled, like a rope was pulled tightly around his throat, and he could barely breathe. "Patrick you're an angel," he choked out.  
     "I ruin everything I touch. Please, I'm drowning, just–"  
     "Peter. This isn't you,"  
     "It is Patrick! I am bi-po-lar," he pronounced the word with a slow, spit speech.  
     "This is me. This is why I left. I'm drowning and I can't swim, Jeanae left and I suppose that if even she couldn't deal with me, the real me after all I did for her, you guys won't either. You can't," Patrick thought this over.  
     "I can, Pete. I will. I'm gonna help you swim."


	2. Reasons to Take More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're golden, Patrick. You're so fucking golden dude, I love you, I–"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey !! I've never published anything to AO3 before and wow! 35 hits in 4 hours! Thats stellar, thanks guys! By the way, sorry for paragraph breaks in this chapter, I'm uploading from a mobile device and they won't stay :-// <3

_**"This is for the snakes and the people they bite For the friends I've made; for the sleepless nights"** _

  
      Then it's the new parties, young nights, new drugs, young love. By 11, Pete's grabbing his hand to lead him out the back door of a place that the 20 year old shouldn't technically even be in, he had whiskey on his breath and his heart on his sleeve.  
     Patrick realized he never really knew how it felt to be young and alive, now just walking the streets of Chicago for hours with his best friend who, yeah, was pretty fucking drunk, and it's not like he drank but, it seemed fitting.  
     At 12:30, they found themselves sitting on an overpass, Pete's head resting on Patrick's shoulder as he spilled his thoughts out all at once, bouncing between anger and sadness and love all it once, making it hard for the latter to keep up.   
"She's a fucking snake, 'Trick," Pete's speech was partially slurred, his eyes were tired.  
Patrick furrowed his brow. "Pete, she's not worth it."  
"Yeah. Yeah, I know," he gazed off again.  
No, of course she wasn't worth this. Everyone knew that, Patrick figured. Probably even her.  
Pete, however, figured it was his best bet. What else did he have? At 25, he spent his days alone with his thoughts, his drinks, his words, and his pills. The rest of his band had seen a steady decline in his mental state over the past couple of months, or years even, no one could really tell just when Pete had stopped being Pete anymore.  
He buried his head deep into Patrick's shoulder, and he figured he could stay like this forever. Every night was a sleepless one, so maybe if he could convince the kid to stay there with him, at least the sleeplessness wouldn't be loneliness. Friend, he thought to himself. Patrick's nothing more than my friend.  
Maybe that's why he needed her, because he needed someone. He always needed someone to be there for him in a romantic sense because, fuck, he couldn't deal with his own head alone. But Patrick couldn't be there that way. He'd made that clear, Pete needed to respect his friend's wishes.

 _**"For the warning signs I've completely ignored** _  
_**There's an amount to take, reasons to take more"** _

Patrick was oblivious. He probably knew, deep down. He knew that Pete wasn't okay, he knew that he needed help and he needed out of his twisted relationship, he needed help that was not in the form of popping pills with no real counsel through it.  
Okay, yeah, he did know how much help he needed but it was easier this way, it was so much easier to just let him lay his head on his shoulder, and completely ignore every sign he got that he needed to do something.  
Pete had reason to take what he asked from Patrick, which was mainly just the company, but Patrick knew he had reason to take more, and maybe he was shitty for pretending like this was smaller than it was, but he had no idea how else to deal with it.

 **_"It's no big surprise you turned out this way_ **  
**_When they close their eyes and prayed you would change"_ **

Later that night, or earlier that morning, 'it's all about perspective, Lunchbox,' Patrick answered his phone again, and Pete was crying, hard, and shaking into the receiver. "She says I'm fucked."  
Patrick sighs, "you're not Pete, you're normal you're perfectly," he trails off, because he knows he's full of shit.  
Pete's voice is quiet and calm when he speaks, "you know I'm pretty sure she prays for me to change at night," he laughed.  
"If I was normal, if I was a little bit likable and had the musical success, fuck, maybe every 'love of my life' wouldn't be a one night stand."  
"Pete, I'm coming over."

 **_"And they cut your hair, and sent you away_ **  
**_You stopped by my house the night you escaped"_ **

He answered the door silently, not speaking, not even breathing, caught off guard by skin pressed close against his, pushing him back into the room. Patrick was crying, and so was he, but what had really changed, other than the fact it was 2 in the morning and here he was, in his apartment, hugging his best friend and tightly as he possibly could, afraid of letting go.  
The younger boy couldn't let go himself, holding his friend like a lifeline, terrified of how it felt like Pete was slipping through the cracks every time he let go of him.  
Pete lifted his head from Patrick's shoulder, a quick motion that caught them both off guard at first, but then he was spilling over, pleading, asking the latter to stay with him because, fuck, he couldn't do this, he couldn't be alone, he couldn't face the world with just his own head. Without thinking, he pushed forward, brushing their lips together.

**_"With tears in my eyes, I begged you to stay_ **  
**You said, 'Hey man, I love you but no fucking way'"**

Patrick jerked away by impulse, feeling the other boy shudder under his touch, but he was too off guard to pretend like everything was normal. He broke their embrace. "Pete, you know I love you man but, I'm not gay, and even if I was that's not how we..." he trailed off.  
"That's not how we work. I'd die for you, I really would, you're so important to me, it's just not there."  
Pete nodded, and hugged him again, whispering apologies into his shoulder. Patrick was worried that he'd fucked up, lost him even, he panicked for a moment before he spoke again. "That's okay, just stay, Patrick, I can love you however you want me too."  
The singer sighed, nodded, and lead the bassist over to his bed, laying him down to sing to him, until he fell asleep or at least pretended to, so that Patrick could not worry about him quite as much.  
"You're golden, Patrick. You're so fucking golden dude, I love you, I–"

 


	3. Something For You To Do Onstage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think it's going to get better, 'Trick. I really do"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey !! really short chapter, I know. It's because this is for the chorus and I only have 2 lines to work with. I'm probably going to double upload the next chapter right now, I'm on various flights today, as I'm on spring break and my family and I are going to Mexico. Enough personal stuff, I'll upload off and on today as much as possible. :-)

 

  
_**"I'm sure that we could find something for you to do on stage** _   
_**Maybe shake a tambourine or when I sing, you sing harmonies"** _

     "Dude," Patrick was exhausted of emphasizing this so many times. "The band fucking needs you."  
     Maybe he was right, maybe he wasn't. As January came to a close, Pete wasn't really sure what he wanted, what he needed, or what he was doing. Fall Out Boy hadn't played a show in months, but they were currently supposed to be leaving for the world tour they were on in just a few weeks.   
     And of course Patrick couldn't convince Pete to go with them. "What the fuck Wentz, how is Fall Out Boy going to play without you? We can't just find a new bassist that the fans will already know in 15 days. Come on asshole, you gotta."  
He was right, and Pete knew it. So he agreed, they would play a couple smaller hometown shows then set out for Europe in the following weeks, it was a good plan.  
The only problem was, Pete wasn't himself. Patrick could tell. The first show back, they played a small venue near Glenview, and the bassist was majorly subpar. Luckily, the kids didn't notice Pete's lack of enthusiasm during Saturday, or how he seemed to find his fingers tripping on the strings of his instrument during Dead On Arrival. Andy and Joe didn't either, so Patrick figured he must just have some kind of God-given "Pete-dar", of which he couldn't decide if it was a blessing or a terrible curse.  
     After the show, everything seemed to bounce back to normal. Pete disappeared, Patrick found him outside making out with some scene guy, same old same old. Patrick made his way back through the club, the sickening smells of cigarettes and hard liquor clinging to the collar of his shirt. Pete found him maybe half an hour later, and to Patrick's surprise, he wasn't drunk or high, he was just clingy and desperate and probably over worked, over tired, over dramatic and over excessively willing to take any kind of affection he could get.   
     They sat like that for maybe five minutes before Pete spoke, soft and slow, "I shouldn't have doubted you. I think it's going to get better, I really do 'Trick."  
Patrick smiled, patting his friend on the shoulder and reassuring him that, of course it's gonna get better, how many times do I have to tell you?   
     That night, Pete didn't call. He's convinced Patrick of his hopeful epiphany, so maybe he could stop worrying himself for once. Knowing that he was comfortably asleep and not concerned about Pete's head for once was almost as comforting as having him there. Almost. 


	4. Make Sure You Kiss Your Knuckles Before You Punch Me In the Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick can see right through Pete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in Mexico! I'll try to finish uploading this whole thing by tomorrow :-) Again, the paragraph thing won't stay so sorry if the spacing is off at all, I don't have the patience to fix it right now

_**"This is for the lake that me and my friends swim in, naked and dumb on a drunken night"**_  
  
After Glenview, things seemed to take a turn for the better. Pete even had Patrick convinced that he was doing all right, and Andy and Joe especially thought nothing of it.   
On February the 7th, after a show in a club somewhere outside of Chicago, that Pete insisted was Wilmette, (to which Patrick responded that 'no, I would recognize my home town.") Andy turned in early, and Patrick was convinced to go for a quote on quote "night swim" with Pete and Joe.  
He tried his best to avoid it, he really did, but that spark was back in Pete's eyes and he would do anything to keep it there.

_**"And it should've felt good but I can hear the Jaws theme song on repeat in the back of my mind"** _

Pete cracked a few jokes and drank a few beers. As the icy water hit his pale skin, Patrick finally got it, all of it.  
How fucking fake his friend's smile was, how plastered on it looked, everything he was hiding behind his eyes. Patrick couldn't shake the feeling that something was really, terribly wrong.  
How hadn't he seen it? Pete Wentz was a terrible actor, and his closest friend had never expected him to even be capable of going to such lengths to mask his feelings and lie through his teeth.   
Pete was worried, his head was blurry and he was trying to hide the fact that he didn't really even know where or who he was with grins and slaps on the back.   
Patrick rose from the water, tugging Pete's wrist and pulling him up and out behind him. The moonlight shown off of the frames of his glasses as he placed them on his face, poking them into place with his index finger. Joe followed with a laugh, calling the others pussies before piling into the back of their van.   
Pete had had a few, Joe had had a few more than a few, so Patrick drove to their hotel, locking Pete in so he couldn't pull any shit while he walked Joe up to his shared room with Andy.   
When he returned, Pete jumped out to hug him when he unlocked the car, slinging an arm around his waist as they walked towards the stairs to their room. The hallway was dimly lit, and Patrick fumbled with the key for a moment before shuffling the two bodies inside, with little to no help from Pete.   
By the time he had propped Pete up on one of the beds, he couldn't contain himself anymore. "Hey Pete," he started.  
"Yeahh VonStump?" His words were slurred and nearly unintelligible.

_**"Make sure you kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the face"** _

"I know what you're going through," Patrick swallowed hard, thinking about his plan that he'd tried to push to the back of his mind as much as possible. '21,' he thought, shuddering as he recalled the vague date he had made a pact with himself over sophomore year. He couldn't tell if I'd was still serious or not.  
Pete looked perplexed. "I know it's hard Pete, I get it I really do, just remember, I love you and–" Patrick began.  
"I love you too," Pete cut him off. "But no, Patrick. You will never get me. Not even for a second, so just stop trying to."  
Patrick felt like he'd been stabbed in the gut with a rusty blade. He stuttered as Pete continued. "You're not there for me like you think you are. What is this, community service? Do you want a medal for telling me you love me sometimes?" His voice was ice cold.   
"Pete, just say the word and I'll leave you be."  
"I don't know what the word is, but how 'bout fuck you, Patrick."  
This was good enough for him, and he turned and bolted towards the door, keys in hand, pain on his mind, and 'yeah,' he thought. 'Maybe 21's a good idea.'

_**"There are lessons to be learned, consequences for all the stupid things I say"** _

Pete lurched forward when he heard the door slam, he knew he had fucked up big time. 'Don't you see how much you hurt him? You hurt everyone you care about Pete you fucking idiot,' he knew he was right here. Worthless. That's what he was. A few minutes later, the door opened up again, and for a second he thought maybe it was Patrick coming back, but instead, Andy Hurley zombie-walked over to the adjacent bed, shot him a glare for making Patrick have to switch rooms, and collapsed, probably asleep.   
  
_**"And it is no big surprise you turned out this way**_  
 _ **The spark in your eyes, The look on your face**_  
 _ **I will not be late"**_

Patrick was just about the purest person he'd ever met, with his angelic voice and positive outlook on things, even when everything seemed shitty as hell. His shy awkwardness and the confident, quirky, and utterly hilarious side that seemed to come out only when he was alone with Pete. Of course it turned out like this, he just hurt and hurt, he dimmed the light in Patrick's eyes, so yeah? it was better off this way. With the band's recent signing to Island and growing popularity, he knew that if he died in 2007 he would definitely be part of the 27 club, he just feared he wouldn't work the courage up in time. He choked a sob into his pillow in attempt not to disturb the sleeping drummer, his mind was made up, and at least he wouldn't be late.


	5. The Decision I Have Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm sorry," she was monotone. "It's not your fault really, you're a good person we're just diff–"  
> "Oh, fucking save it." The line went dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the lack of updates. Also MCR broke up 3 years ago today :,(( I hope you're all doing all right.  
> I decided to skip doing another chapter based on the chorus, so I skipped over those too lines and went on to the nest verse instead. :-)

  
_**"I wanna contribute to the chaos"**_  
  
She called on February the 12th, 2005. Pete's hands were sweaty as he picked up the phone between his fragile fingers, breathing in deeply but barely exhaling. "Pete?"  
"Jeanae?" He allowed himself a longer breath. "You're coming up for Valentine's Day, right? Me and the band are in Chicago right now, we're leaving for tour on the 14th actually but I thought we could have dinner or something tomorrow."  
She was wind in the trees, haunting your sleep as you hide under the covers. Her voice was cold and emotionless as she spoke. "Peter, the band just isn't going places. You're a staple, and you can't keep up with me," he took a breath to mull this for over a moment.  
"I want to change, I want to move, I want to keep up!" He was pleading.  
She inhaled sharply, releasing a sigh shortly after. Pete felt like his heart had been torn in two, because this could not be real. Oh, fuck no. He began to raise his voice, to get angry, to find it in himself to become the chaos he apparently lacked, to put him in the kind of mood where he felt like slamming the door to his room and driving half way across the state just to bash her fucking windshield in.  
  
**_"I don't wanna watch and then complain"_**

But he couldn't. He simply could not stir up enough rage to become what she wanted him to be, because he knew that that wasn't him, and that Patrick was right when he had told him that she wasn't worth it that night on the overpass. He had ignored the signals that they were hitting dead ends after dead ends each time they turned, and he was simply done with watching her wreak havoc while he watched, and then whine about it later on. "Is it over?" His eyes felt wet, his stomach in knots.  
"I'm sorry," she was monotone. "It's not your fault really, you're a good person we're just diff–"  
"Oh, fucking save it." The line went dead.  
He slammed the phone back into place. After five or ten minutes of silence that felt like hours, his shaking fingers grasped it again, dialing the first number that came to mind, his fingers working faster than his mind. "Hey, Patrick."  
Patrick was drowsy, and he spoke with uncertainty. "Pete? What's up man?"  
"Jeanae ended things," he tried to hold himself together, to make a joke out of his 'bitch ex girlfriend', but he couldn't, and he began to cry.  
The scene unfolds like this:  
"I think I'm in love with her, Patrick," Patrick considers this a moment before speaking.  
"Pete, you don't know what the fuck love means."  
Pete was done. He tried to stutter a response, but his friend was already gone, already rolling his eyes and laying back down to return to sleep. Pete wanted to scream, to break plates and slam doors and smash windows and blame Jeanae for ending things, blame Patrick for not being there, blame himself for being such a fucking idiot ** _._**

"' ** _Cause I am through finding blame"_**

He was done blaming everything that went wrong on everyone else. Of course it was his fault, who else's fault could it be? He was far too inside his own head now, and there was no turning back. He was a creature of the night, hiding under a mask of darkness and depression. Flashback to earlier that week.

_"Pete," Patrick had said with concern. "How long have you been off your meds?"_  
_Pete lied through his teeth. "A week." He had promised to start again. He had sworn to his best friend, but still he left them there collecting in his drawer, a constant reminder of how shitty he really was._

They still say my there, under a few pairs of his socks and boxers. He had never figured himself to be desperate enough for it to come to this, sure, he was bipolar, he was depressed, he had insomnia and nightmares, but it had seemed to be that way as long as he could remember.  
Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III made it exactly 25 years and 114 days until his cracked foundation gave in. Hysterical, out of his mind, and not exactly thinking straight, he launched himself from bed and started tearing apart his drawers, desperately grabbing at the yellow bottles and tucking them under the covers with him.

" _ **That is the decision that I have made"**_

The next day went by in a blur. The day before tour, it was a day off for them, and the other members of Fall Out Boy had decided to throw a party at Patrick's in Chicago. Pete was considering making the drive to Wilmette to see his parents before he left for Europe, but he was burnt the fuck out, and honestly didn't even know if there would be a Pete Wentz on the trip over seas.  
He had decided his fate, and this time, he would not be a coward about it.  
It was too loud at Patrick's. He slipped away from the group of loud people dancing in the living room, and went to the bathroom down the hall. He knew this was a morbid place to do it, in his best friend's apartment, but he had decided on tonight, and was stranded in the middle of the city, so he figured he had no other choice.  
West Roscoe Street was dead quiet, unpleasantly contrasting with the roar of the party outside the door. He started with the Ativan, but couldn't even force one down his dry throat. "Pete?" Shit. There was a nervous knock on the door.  
"Yeah 'Trick, I'm in here, I'm okay." Patrick hesitated outside the door.  
"All right," his words were not slurred and fuzzy with alcohol like many of his guests' had been. "I'll be by the bar."  
Pete choked into the sleeve of his jacket. The kid was sober, ready for his flight in the morning, and fuck, Pete couldn't fucking kill himself in his best friend's bathroom.  
He fumbled with the door, unlocking it with some difficulty and maneuvering out of the room. He quickly said goodbye to anyone standing around, and insisted he was just tired and wanted to get back to his own apartment.  
Pete flew down the outdoor stairs, unlocking his car and ducking inside in one swift motion. His breath blew out white, and he turned on the defrost to eliminate the ice from his windshield. He only made it about a mile, insisting that he would have to make it back to his own apartment to do it, but drunk and hazy, he found himself pulling into the parking lot of a Best Buy on West Belmont Avenue, not too far from the party he had just left.  
He turned on the radio, settling on a classic rock station before leaning his seat back and beginning to count the pills he had.  
His stomach dropped. He thought he had a enough, which made the ordeal perhaps even more terrifyingly fitting than it had been before. He intended to leave something behind, so grabbing his (new) green sidekick, he quickly typed a draft of something up on his Livejournal.

_"I'll be stuck fixated on one star_  
_when the world is crashing down_  
_I keep telling myself I'm not the desperate type_  
_but you've got me looking through blinds"_

Pete chuckled to himself as he downed the first few, and in a blur he found himself dialing a number. She picked up on the third ring.


	6. Every Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her voice was emotionless, even as she cursed him out, unaware of the pills in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay soooooo !! TW TW TW TW !! this is the chapter about the Best Buy incident so READ AT YOUR OWN DESCRETION! Also, Brendon makes an appearance in the very last chapter for like a second so I'm sorry if I mislead anyone with that tag. Also, we have to fly out of LAX to get home from Mexico anyways, so I'm going to Wintour on the 26th! Yay!  
> AND IMPORTANT!!!!! I'm going to publish sort of an epilogue after this, so NO this is NOT it. The song ends here, but I have one more chapter in mind, that I'll probably put up later today.

" _ **She hopes I'm cursed forever"**_

     Jeanae White had never been one to forgive. Pete, deep down, didn't really want to die. He wanted her back, and she wouldn't give that to him. She wouldn't show him anything, not love, or sadness, or even anger. Her voice was emotionless, even as she cursed him out, unaware of the pills in his hands. 

     "Pete, listen to me. You're absolutely pathetic. I hope this haunts you, because I will never be able to get years back of my life that were wasted on you." 

     He nodded. And yeah, she couldn't see him, but he figured she knew him just well enough to interpret the shifting in the silence. Tears once again stung hot in his eyes, visions of king sized beds and children and waking up to her in the morning hit him harder than before and blinded him. He hung up the phone. 

     Pete opened the glove compartment, pulling every bottle he had from it. turning the radio up, he swallowed as many lorazepam as he could at once. It felt like a kick to the gut, but it didn't really matter anymore once his mind began to go hazy.

**_"To sleep on a twin sized mattress"_ **

    Visions of Patrick flooded his mind. His quiet blue-green eyes, the way he smiled at Pete when he did stupid shit, and the way he laughed for him, that one special laugh that only seemed to come out when just Pete was around. Joe and Andy followed, his other best friends in the entire world, before his eyes he watched them on stages upon stages of the past 4 years. He witnessed everything at once; Jeanae's smirk, his mother's soft coo of her voice; his father's pride that flashed in his eyes whenever he came out to see Fall Out Boy perform. 

     Maybe it wasn't a curse, maybe it was a blessing that she had sent him free, to explore the world of twin sized bunks on busses with his three best friends.

     Pete knew he fucked up. He knew it when it was too late, he knew it after his limbs had already turned limp and fuck, Hallelujah was on the radio and he didn't want to die anymore. 

He was sobbing uncontrollably now, desperately feeling for his cellphone, banging on the Windows praying that someone would be in a Belmont Best Buy parking lot at 3 am. 

**_"In somebody's attic or basement my whole life"_ **

He hazily recalled the nights spent playing basement shows, the smell of sweat and the taste of Patrick's skin barely teasing his lips. He remembered not being able to afford hotels, bunking in attics or basements at kid's parents houses on tiny mattresses that occasionally had to be shared. They were going to Europe with Island records in the morning. 

     Pete was screaming, haunted by too small beds, too little time, stupid decisions, and heat of the moment sadness.

**_"Never graduating up in size to add another"_ **

It hit him like a sack of bricks: He would never taste the life he had always wanted to lead. His friends and him had made it, and he was ruining it with one night and a Best Buy in Chicago. Now more frantically, fingers met leather seats, shuffling for any sign of the green side kick. 

     Relief flushed through him as his hands rested on it, fumbling for the keypad, and doubling over as he began to call. The last notes of the Leonard Cohen song rang through his car. "Patrick," he choked. 

"Pete? Where are you? Home?"

"No, 'Trick I fucked u..." he trailed off.

"Pete!" Patrick urged.

"The Best Buy on Belmont," he was shaking. "I need help."

     To the younger boy's horror, the bass it then hung up, leaving him stranded at a house party with no idea on what to do. 

     Pete could barely see. This is not what he had planned, and the visions before him were perhaps even more terrifying than the ones that came to him at night, to the point where he could barely cope with them. 

**_"And my nightmares will have nightmares every night"_ **

Patricl was tripping over the keypad on his phone. Anxiety stirred in his chest, and he sobbed into the phone as the emergency line picked up. He told them about the West Belmont Best Buy, urging them to send an ambulance. All he could bring himself to do was slump over onto his couch and be haunted by countless nightmares, assuming the worst of what was happening to his friend. He thought of never seeing his face or hearing his voice, how empty it would feel without the feeling of his lips on his neck durning shows. 

     Patrick Stump got socked in the face on February 14th, 2005, with the truth. After all of this shit, yeah, he was kind of in love with Pete.

_**"Oh, every night. Every night."** _

He got the whole story from Joe in the morning, who picked him up in their van and drove him to see Pete at the hospital. All of the details were a bit sketchy, but the doctors pieced together their medical opinions and Pete's story to come up with that he had been planning this for a few days, and didn't have the heart to do it at Patrick's party, so he had driven the mile and a half to Best Buy, where he parked his car, but left it running, to swallow 2 and a half bottles of lorazepam, or Ativan, and 4 sleeping pills. Apparently, a song on the radio had made him come to his senses. 

     Patrick couldn't last 5 minutes in Pete's room. The older boy's eyes were glassy, and everything about him screamed too thin, too tired, too pale. The former could hardly bear it long enough to make his way over to the bed and ghost his fingers over Pete's cheek, pressing a kiss to his forehead before turning on his heels and striding out the door. 

     The worst part about being the one who was there was the phone calls. Patrick called Pete's parents, and his own, to let them know what had happened. He called the label and their manager to let them know that Fall Out Boy had officially dropped off of the tour. 

     Perhaps the hardest phone call for him to make was one of the last on the list. Brendon Urie, barely 18, answered the phone perky and cheerful. 

"Patrick? Stump? Hey man! What's up with tour?"

"Brendon, I have to tell you something, okay?"

"Yeah! 'Course."

Patrick took a deep breath. "Pete tried to end it yesterday night. They think he'll be okay but," he paused.

"But what?"

"Physically, yeah. But mentally, I don't know."

The kid had gotten it. He was choked up towards the end, and in the background, Patrick could hear Ryan Ross' voice. 

     Maybe the hardest part about telling Brendon was knowing that he had Ryan to hold and Patrick was alone, in the apartment where Pete had originally wanted to do it. 

     Pete showed up at his door two and a half weeks later. Patrick was wearing the same clothes he'd been living in for God knows how long, and when he saw who was staring at him through the door frame, on impulse he slapped him right across the face. 

      Pete rubbed his face and furrowed his brow, and on impulse, Patrick pulled the older boy as close as he possibly could towards him, hugging him close as they cried, and for the first time in months it felt like the old days. PeteandPatrick, joined at the hip, were back, and this time, Patrick didn't think twice before he disconnected slightly from the embrace and met his soft lips to Pete's chapped ones. 

 


End file.
